Three Weeks Later (Who's Taking Advantage of Whom?)
by Higekimaru
Summary: Aizen, Ichimaru, and Tōsen left wreckage in their wake. Wreckage that doesn't understand how it failed. Wreckage that's crushed under burdens it never thought it would have to bear. Hisagi's been drinking. Komamura's been coping. Who is taking advantage of whom? Lemony one-shot; competing with Komamura's Son's "Secret Time After Work."


**A/N: Right. Well, I have a major serial that I intend to continue indefinitely, that I already take too long to update, which has me thoroughly out of my depth. And I have to learn how to drive, fervently study Japanese and practice music, administrate a club website, think about getting a job, and set aside time to slowly slip into madness. I took the ACT two days ago, so I was preparing for that while I should have been working on APM.**

**In response to that incredibly stressful schedule, I wrote porn. Twenty-three pages of it. Or, rather, sixteen pages of fluff followed by porn. I swore I wouldn't, but a friend sort of invited me to challenge him to a contest, and one thing led to another, and now I have hardcore furry smut that I don't know what to do with. So, yeah. That friend is user Komamura's Son. He wrote something too—check it out, and comment on whichever one you prefer. **

***coughcoughthisone***

**I don't own Bleach; if I did, there would at least be canon relationships involved with characters that are still alive.**

Hisagi sat at the end of the ill-lit bar, eyes turned into the ochoko of sake that sat cradled in his callused fingers. He found it ironic that the grog he was drunk on was being served in a vessel intended to allow the nonexistent fragrance to waft upward.

The cup was thrown back, its chipped ceramic edge catching the hazy, weak lantern light of the Rukongai. That was the fifth drink he'd had in the past hour, and he was still a few shades too conscious for his liking. Snapping his fingers at the bartender, a thin woman with terrible teeth and a kind disposition, he coughed out a command.

"Keep 'em coming."

**ΞΞΞ**

Kilometers away, the Captain of the Seventh Division of the Court Guard, Komamura Sajin, sat in his office, a writing brush gently resting in his large hand. The form in front of him was the thirtieth transfer request he'd received in the past two days.

It wasn't surprising, not really. Who in the Division known for its honor and morals would be comfortable serving a beast as vile as him?

The clock struck two, and ink dripped from the tip of his brush into the pot. The sound of the latter struck his ear—sensitive both to sound and to the absence of the helm he had become so dependent on—oddly. It sounded lonely, and called to mind the man that had left him not a even a month ago.

_Kaname._

Again, he wondered why Tōsen had turned to side with Aizen. The new scars on his body twinged as he recalled the day. His large, canine jaw clenched as he thought of the sight of Tōsen rising in the Negación and of the cold distance in his bearing. He'd looked as peerless as he always had.

The brush's sturdy handle cracked along the grain of the wood.

_You always did like your masks. I remember that awful one you picked out just after you joined the Fifth. It covered half of your face._

The possibility that their relationship may have been just another mask vied for his attention from one of the dark corners of his mind. Komamura ignored it, and stood to retire to his bedroom. Simple and sparse, it suited his tastes. Though they were unwanted and useless now, the memories of the things he and Tōsen had done there intruded, and his lips curled even as his nostrils flared slightly. He knew there could be almost nothing left of the man in the room—he'd ordered four back-to-back cleaning services for the room just to kill the scents of the past.

Komamura was exhausted. He was sad and lonely, achingly so. It felt almost as if the kosode he wore had been left outside during the winter. More than anything, he wanted to abandon his responsibilities for a while. Maybe for good, had he the chance.

But despite it all, the thought of soft, supple brown skin and opaque eyes still aroused him. How could he forget something that had given him hope for over a century? How could he pretend the thought of his life's second bond to another being empty didn't cut to the core?

As he undid the ties on his clothing and hung up his haori, the grim thought occurred to him that he was now alive because of his obligations to Yamamoto, Iba, and possibly Tōsen.

He slept for an hour that night. The thick futon's cushioning only reminded him of the way it had felt under his knees as he pulled back on Tōsen's hair and plunged to his knot, until the man had finally been forced to accommodate it.

Yes, Tōsen had liked it rough.  
Komamura's hand began its inexorable trip downwards as he listened to the choruses of crickets in the Division gardens.

**ΞΞΞ**

Hisagi opened his eyes, a groan leaving his mouth as the light lanced into the center of his forehead. It was morning. Having badly overslept, Hisagi was sprawled against the wall of his private quarters. Immediately, the memories of the last night stumbled in, probably in a facsimile of his own movements.

Then, an instant after waking, Hisagi vomited all over his uniform.

He panted and spat up more bile, convulsing slightly. Wriggling out of the kosode, Hisagi balled it up and set it aside. He tried to stand, bracing himself against the wall with his left hand, and stumbled. Gasping weakly, he slid back into a sitting position as his stomach threatened to rebel a third time. His literary mind described the sensation of queasy weakness as a sickly white feeling, like a pale and guttering flame.

_No. That's not happening. Not feeling walking right now._

His hand jerkily leapt forward as he started to make his way to the bathroom. Past a state-of-the-art kitchen with a refrigerator he had eaten two meals out of in the past week. Past a modest but well-appointed case of dusty books. Past the room he and Tōsen had sometimes sat in while drinking tea and talking.

An ugly feeling curdled in his stomach at the thought of the man. It was a mixture of many foul things—anger, yes, and betrayal, and also a complex brew of anxiety, regret, shame, guilt, and the nagging fear that maybe he could've changed something.

"Change what?" Renji had asked the last time they spoke about it.

He didn't understand. Nobody did, apart from maybe Hinamori and Kira, but they were still on suicide watch.

_Maybe I should be, too. _

He didn't feel that way. At least not when he was sober. Drunk, Hisagi wasn't so sure. Things were too muddled for any certainty, apart from the urgency of the desire for numbness, for the horror of not being good enough to make the man you respected, whose opinion you valued over all else, stay.

Sullen and ill, he looked in the mirror. His hair was messy—the bad messy, where he looked like one of the Rukongai's homeless. The impression was accentuated by the presence of two days' stubble on his face and the circles under his eyes.

_Damn, I look terrible_, he snorted as he cupped some water in his hands and began to rinse his mouth.

_Wonder what the Captain would say to this._

He changed into a clean uniform, swallowed a double dose of painkillers, and left for another day. Forcing a positive front for _The_ _Communication _was exhausting, and he hated to print what was essentially a series of lies intended to gloss over the fact that the world was coming down around them. In addition to those duties, Hisagi had become the Acting Captain, which meant his signature was needed on all Division business that concerned personnel and financial management, while also working in conjunction with the four other braille-literate men and women of the Ninth to translate several decades of records that were probably rife with small inconsistencies anyway.

First humans that could beat Captains in a fair fight, and now war? If someone had told Hisagi two weeks ago that he would be holding his Captain and idol at swordpoint in the near future, he would have scoffed at the notion. Settling into his seat, he ignored the rumble of his stomach as he began sorting through his various inboxes, each filled beyond the limit of what he could do. Coming down around him, indeed.

**ΞΞΞ**

Komamura moved across the courtyard outside the Ninth Division's Offices, past a large group of men going through a lackluster hakuda drill. If he hadn't felt the same way, he might have lectured them on the virtues of earnest training. Looking at the woman leading the men, he couldn't help but think about the inevitable jokes they would be making about him and Tōsen, the blind man and his seeing eye dog.

_The dog that couldn't guide his master._

He quickened his pace and looked down when the Shinigami began to whisper, until he reached the Lieutenant's Office.

It was next to Tōsen's former office. That fact loomed in his mind, even though he new it was irrelevant to the business that brought him here. Since Tōsen's departure—_No, betrayal, _he corrected himself—the Ninth had been underproductive and afflicted by morale lower than even the Twelfth Division's members, who had the opportunity to take their feelings out on their subordinates and test subjects.

He announced his presence quietly outside Hisagi's door.

"Come it, Captain," returned the fatigued reply. It had lagged a moment, during which Komamura had caught a muttered curse.

_Lieutenant Hisagi's been having a hard time of it as well_, he noted, sliding the door open. Hisagi sat bracing his head on his arms, a defeated man. As he looked up at Komamura, he set his lips and straightened slightly. To Komamura's relief, he hadn't evinced any change from his respectful observation of etiquette since the revelation of his true appearance, unlike many others, whose reactions had varied from shock and horror to a type of perverse fascination, though the latter was mainly on the part of Captain Kurotsuchi.

Stepping over the threshold, he bowed slightly in greeting, the bow of an equal to an equal. Hisagi noticed, as he always did. And like always, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth, the abortive beginning of a bitter smile, betrayed his feelings about the subject. Truthfully, it wasn't surprising that the Ninth had low morale, with its primary leader in such a state. It concerned Komamura, both professionally and personally—he knew the importance of _The Seireitei Communication_, and intended to issue a statement with the next issue regarding his new public appearance, never mind the fact that he was invested in it emotionally, having written for it and helped Tōsen with many of his lesser editorial duties.

With the regularity of a clock, a particularly intense throb of pain issued from his heart and his scars. Something of it must have shown, because Hisagi's dark grey eyes—darker now than ever before—lingered on his face for a moment longer than normal before he produced a folder filled with matters of everyday Ninth Division business. Komamura fought down the instinctual defensive snarl, and instead approached, taking the sheaf of papers to review them.

"They're all just run-of-the-mill training area schedules and order forms. I'd do them in house, but Captain Tōsen's workload is taking all of my time, and a lot of it needs to be translated from braille. The others are all busy with other work. Third Seat Barashima's the one acting as Lieutenant, since Kyomaki transferred. Just so you know." He leaned back and rubbed his eyes with a finger and thumb.

As he did so, Komamura's nostrils twitched with an inhalation. "Lieutenant Hisagi, are you ill?"

More irritated than ashamed, Hisagi scowled. "I knew I should've showered. No, Captain, I'm not sick. Just a little hungover," he admitted, scratching at his collar slightly and flushing.

For a long moment, Komamura looked at him over the sheaf of forms in his hands. Thoughts of the consequences of alcoholism ran through his mind, his ears twitching slightly with each one. Years back, a man under his command had sunk into alcoholism. He'd gotten past the addiction with the tried and true method of making the numbness permanent. Looking closer at sallow skin and dark-ringed eyes, he realized exactly what state Hisagi was in, and felt a sympathetic impulse penetrate his own fatigue.

_Hungover, yes, but he's definitely sick, too. And it's worse than a summer cold. _

"Lieutenant Hisagi," he yawned, flashing a mouthful of sharp teeth, "I'm not going to shame you for coping however you can, but come to my office tonight. I'm fairly sure it's considered bad form to drink alone."

Hisagi raised an eyebrow, returning the salute. "Seriously? I mean, I was planning on staying in, but that sounds...nice," he answered, frowning at a mission report summary that was written in braille as he slowly began to transcribe it onto a fresh form in ink.

"I don't mean to offend, but my limited experiences with Captain Kyōraku tell me that you probably wouldn't, in the end, keep that resolution. And I very much doubt either of us needs to spend more time alone right now."

Hisagi chuckled slightly, emotions warring in the second-long battlefield of a reaction. "Yeah, maybe you're right."

There was another moment of quiet as the two of them marshaled their thoughts.

"If this is all you have for me, I'll be going."

"Alright." He looked up. "Thank you, by the way. You and the Seventh have done a lot for the Ninth these past weeks."

"It's the least I could do. I think...that he'd want us to continue in his absence. _The Communication _was important to him," answered Komamura, disliking the way the past tense tasted leaving his mouth. It made it sound like Tōsen was dead. He rolled a shoulder, suddenly eager to rest, if only for an hour.

"Good day, Lieutenant Hisagi."

The other man was left staring at the open door, sharp corners of his eyes downturned. Balmy summer air that was just beginning to turn cold filtered in, and he took a deep breath. It seemed impossible that anything could be beautiful right now, but there it was. Drenched in sunlight, the tiled courtyards and streets of his Division and home shined.

He poured himself a large cup of water from the carafe on the office's low table, and began heating a pot for tea.

**ΞΞΞ**

The sun was couched low on the horizon when Hisagi arrived, a semicircle of orange-red light whose diffuse light cast an urgent shade of yellow light across the Seventh Division grounds and barracks. A dog—the Captain's almost certainly—barked in the distance. It was around half past eight, the earliest he'd quit in days. Afterward, he'd usually gone out to a bar—anywhere that didn't make him think of the Captain, it didn't matter where—and tried to drown the feelings. As it happened, the exact opposite was coming to pass. With every night, they drowned him a little more. And as selfish as it was, Hisagi couldn't bring himself to care.

"Captain Komamura? I'm here," he called outside the Seventh Division Captain's Office.

"Please come in."

He entered into a foyer, removed his waraji, and continued to a dining area separated from the rest of the office by a set of shoji dividers. As Hisagi began scraping his way into the room—the traditional method of sliding on one's knees, intended as a gesture of respect that ensured he wouldn't be standing over his host upon entering the room—he realized the absurdity of it with a dull sense of surprise at his own slowness.

_He's three meters tall. If anyone's going to be towering, it'll be him._

Komamura greeted him quietly and, true to his expectations, invited Hisagi to stand. There was a large pot of stew sitting over a bank of coals in the small, square irori set into the floor. It was beef, which was unusual, given the resources required to farm large numbers of cattle and their scarcity in the Rukongai.

There also wasn't a drop of alcohol to be seen; only a type of light tea and water, already at the table. Hisagi raised a brow, but said nothing.

_He'll bring it out later, then._

"The stew smells delicious, Captain. Did you make it yourself?" he asked as he took a seat on a short bench across from the other man. Unlike the traditional dining most captains preferred, Komamura's private room was equipped with a table high enough for him to comfortably sit at it. Its top was around a meter above the floor, so that the mass of his legs could be accommodated.

"No, I'm afraid it was prepared by the kitchens. Cooking has never been a skill of mine," answered Komamura, handing him a full bowl and a broad ceramic spoon. His own set, like his cups, were much larger than Hisagi's.

Ordinarily, the Captain stood out by being too large for his surroundings. Hisagi had thought he had a grasp on his scale, but surrounded by objects that dwarfed his own versions of them, the sheer size of the man was truly sinking in. One of the man's hands would be large enough to wrap most of the way around his head.

Hisagi sipped at his stew, and his stomach growled prodigiously during a lull in the conversation. He sent an apologetic look at the Captain, who dismissed it with a small shake of his head. Between the alcohol and the hangovers it caused, he hadn't realized how hungry he was until actually presented with food.

"You know, I didn't realize it, but I've been skipping meals a lot recently. I've been so busy it just slipped my mind."

Komamura lapped at his spoon for a moment before answering. "It shows. You've lost weight, Lieutenant Hisagi."

Hisagi frowned at his arm. It had crept on him slowly, but he had become thinner in the weeks since the Betrayal. The limb was still strong and limber; only less than it had been before.

"You're right. This has taken its toll on both of us, hasn't it?"

Komamura was silent for a moment, and when he finally answered, it was in a voice heavy with emotion.

"Indeed it has."

Hisagi looked over as he swallowed another spoonful of beef. "Captain?"

Komamura was staring intensely at his massive bowl. He said nothing.

"Damn it, I just dragged something up, didn't I?" he asked, sighing at his own clumsiness and feeling the same doubt welling as when he drank, more potent for the lack of alcohol in his system.

As he looked at the Captain, the thought occurred to him with greater clarity than before that he might have found someone to speak with about Tōsen other than the therapist he had been ordered to see. Hisagi had been quick to vacate the office after the second of the two mandatory meetings; two of his friends were already in one form of intensive care or another. They didn't need him out of commission, too.

"Captain," he began, the words heavy on his tongue. Komamura looked up, concealing whatever emotion lay in his golden eyes, which bore dried brown tearstains in the fur around them.

"What is it?"

He hesitated again, and when the question finally dropped from the precipice of his lips, it quavered in the air.

"Are we to blame? Is it because we weren't—" his voice cracked, and the bowl was set down with a clatter. It went unfinished, hanging where he'd left it, though the other man seemed to understand. The silence stretched out like a desert between them.

"I don't know. He always seemed to like Aizen, even when we attended the Academy together," Komamura answered, sighing. "I don't know, Hisagi."

The omission of his rank surprised Hisagi. Through watery eyes, he looked at Komamura, though me made no remark. With a sniffle, he regained what had been passing for emotional equilibrium and laughed quietly.

"Well, it looks like I just spoiled dinner. I'm sorry, Captain. Where do you keep your sake?"

With a shake of his broad head, Komamura dismissed the thought. "Not at all. Truthfully, I called you here for a reason. We both need someone, Hisagi. You haven't treated me any differently than always, and I've always respected you. As for the sake...you didn't mean to, but you just mentioned the biggest thing we have to talk about."

"Us not being good enough to make him stay?" deadpanned Hisagi, hating how infantile the question sounded.

"No. Your drinking."

"Captain, you said that—"

Komamura nodded, and picked up his bowl once more. "I did. And I meant it. But there's a difference between not shaming you and watching the man whom I consider to be one of my two remaining friends slowly kill himself."

The tears left on Hisagi's dried quickly under the heat of his anger. "I'm fine. I manage myself, I've been doing a triple workload of braille translation and administration for nearly three weeks now, and I've been accomplishing all of it."

"Your men can see what you're doing to yourself. Hisagi, since when did you decide to start growing a beard?"

He raised a hand, as if to confirm what he already knew to be there, before his eyes fixed on Komamura's.

"I didn't. I just—"

"You couldn't find the time to shave," interrupted Komamura, "because you were piss drunk last night, just like every night. You look like a dead man, Hisagi. How much longer do you think this can last? How much longer until you're put on leave by the Central Forty-six or you collapse completely?"

The words, spoken in his stunningly deep voice, were far from his usual gentle, kind tone, and brooked no argument, though Hisagi tried his hardest to muster one. He continued, returning to the softness he was known for, and said, "Your men need you. You're better than this, to allow personal issues to affect your work."

Lip curling as thirst and fatigue caught up with him, Hisagi snapped, "Well, yes, but how can you fault me? Captain, I deeply respect you, but you lost a friend. I lost the man that made me who I _am. _I owe Captain Tōsen everything! And he left me, even after how hard I've worked! Do you know," he shouted, arms braced on the table, past caring for anything other than his selfish emotions, "what it feels like to know that your best will _never_ be good enough?! Do you know—"

"Lieutenant."

The single reprimand was a quiet reminder of Komamura's massive strength and peerless self-mastery, and carried enough force behind it that Hisagi clamped his mouth shut upon hearing it. The warning word was backed by a wall of leaking reiatsu escaping Komamura's normally ironbound sense of control. Emotions flicked through the strands that reached Hisagi, whispers of anguish that dwarfed his, just like everything about Komamura. He blanched, and sank back under Komamura's equivocal stare.

There was a lull. Because he sensed the Captain was working out how to best say something, Hisagi sat back, shaking slightly. His knuckles were livid from the clench of his fists, though he was unsure whether anger, intimidation, or shame motivated the response. With great effort, he relaxed them and took a breath to try and imitate the Captain's even keel. His own feelings were now tempered by curiosity for Komamura's. The question as to the nature of his pain, so intense as to be almost beautiful for its sheer might, weighed on Hisagi's mind, to be answered moments later.

"Kaname and I have been lovers for the past one hundred and four years."

The words left Komamura's mouth flatly. The only thing betraying his emotions was the flux of reiatsu, strangled yet still powerful enough to rattle the table and flicker the office's electric lights. His hands were clenched just as Hisagi's had been. Even when a cup of tea had fell and spilled, soaking the leg of his shikakusho, he did not react.

Each breathed shallowly. One out of a deep fear and sense of self-abasement, the other in an effort to retain control of something no man, human or not, could have been expected to. Komamura placed a hand on Tenken, and a moment later, opened his eyes.

Bitter, yet calmer, he spat, "You know _nothing_. The adage goes 'Speak to me when you've lived another hundred years.' I would say something similar."

He drew himself up to his staggering height, and walked over to the garden door.

"I would say 'Speak to me when your world has left you, when everything that you ever thought you knew is in question.' I'd say 'Speak to me when your safety has been stolen, your darkest shame bared to the world, and when the man you would throw away your honor for has shown you how little your life means to him."

Then he went outside to seek sanctuary among the irises, in the Division Gardens with far too few lanterns.

Only after debating whether he should leave and go out for the night did Hisagi stood to join him some time later, rendered mute by his imperfect firsthand experience of Komamura's emotions. The other man ignored his presence, breathing in the night air, until Hisagi bowed deeply to him.

"Captain...I understand how much I may have been accidentally hurting you. I can't say how much I regret it, nor can I describe how strongly I hope your judgment of me isn't as harsh as it might be. I'm so sorry, for all that you lost. You were right. I knew nothing, and I am sorry for that."

For a long time, Hisagi waited in that position for a sign that he had been heard. When acknowledgment came, it was in the form of a quiet sigh.

"You are as well-spoken and principled as ever, I see. That's good."

Through the warm night air, the last of the season, Komamura paced the length of the porch's straightaway along the outside of the Seventh Division's buildings. Hisagi said nothing until he had passed by a second time.

"Captain?" he called, straightening from his bow with a twinge of pain.

"Hisagi...I cannot continue tonight. There's nothing more that I want other than to rest right now. Please, come back tomorrow. And don't drink tonight."

"Yes, Captain."

Komamura turned, one of his eyes catching the beam of light thrown from the cracked shoji door leading into the office. "I implore you, Hisagi. Your welfare is important to me."

Hisagi had already turned to leave when he heard Komamura speak. Anger and guilt gnawed at the ends of his worn nerves. His eyelids flickered shut for an instant.

"Goodnight, Captain Komamura."

**ΞΞΞ**

As it fell from his fingers, the glass bottle caught the ocher light of the civilian liquor store. Hisagi stood in the front of the shop with a carton of identical bottles. Not sake this time—shōchū, a type of grain alcohol, mixed with fruit juice. Turning from his contemplation of the poorly-lit storefront, he began walking, drinking from another bottle. It was persimmon flavored. Kira would've hated it.

_He''s going to be released tomorrow_, though Hisagi, draining the last of a second bottle. If he hadn't been pushing his tolerance through the roof recently, he would have already been drunk, having chugged down two drinks in the space of ten minutes. As it was, his thoughts were only slightly clouded, though not enough that thinking of Kira didn't conjure contemplation of having to be the one to outlive one or two of his friends.

He finished the bottle and popped open the third of the twelve he'd bought. It was peach flavored.

_Fuck. Hinamori, too._

Suddenly disgusted, he turned and threw the bottle into the night. It vanished into obscurity and shattered against the flagstones some distance away. Then he chugged another bottle, and another, until the tears were flowing silently and he was staggering homeward, going into short bursts of shunpo that invariably ended in a stumble. With every footfall, he cursed bitterly at Tōsen and himself, and _fucking Komamura_, for being so damn graceful and sane in his agony.

Another long draught. He wished he'd gotten something less sweet. In the distance, Hisagi could see the white walls of the Seventh Division barracks and offices below Seireitei's bleached bone of a central citadel.

Another drink, smaller this time in accordance with his growing distaste for the shōchū. Hisagi paused, still looking at the Division offices. The Captain had called him a friend, and taken a personal interest in his welfare, and what had he done, other than wallow some more?

The question marked a new bottom for the depths of his self-hatred, and in reaction, a decision.

His disorganized and muddled thoughts led him to toss aside the second pack of shōchū, letting the glass shatter where it fell. He looked dumbly at the liquid filtering into a drain. Then he continued home, resolved of himself.

The first thing he did was eat. Just some starchy crackers—he was lucid and still mostly clear, but that didn't mean he was in any condition to be firing up the stove. Then he drank some water, and showered.

For a long time, he stood under the nozzle, swaying slightly, yet feeling more sober than he had twenty minutes ago.

After he'd finished scrubbing himself raw and washing days' worth of sweat and dirt from his hair, Hisagi went over to a simple full-length mirror and looked himself up and down in the mirror. He bedded down early—or relatively so—and made sure that he spent the next morning purging all the cheap, sugary alcohol from his body.

When he had washed, shaved, dressed, and eaten, it was past noon. The sun was casting everything outside his window in small puddles of shadow. Another glance in the mirror, taking in his newly improved appearance.

No, the rings around his eyes were not yet banished.

Yes, he needed a drink already, and the day hadn't even really begun.

Yes, his head hurt, and no, it wasn't likely to stop.

But he still looked better than he had in days. As he left for his office, Hisagi sent a hell butterfly ahead to his Acting Lieutenant with a simple command.

_"Assemble the men in an hour. I have an important announcement to make."_

**ΞΞΞ**

The previous night, like nearly every other, Komamura had stayed up late, torturing himself with his own memories. He found it ironic that he had only begun sexually addictive behaviors now, after his lover had left him for good.

Forever is a long time when you're an immensely powerful being who is incapable of natural death and is unwilling to seek it out. So, he waited for the pain to eclipse the power of his ties to Yamamoto and Iba, and even to Hisagi and Tōsen himself.

_I've thought of it before, _he thought, _I'll do it when the time is right. One day, after the War is over._

Iba's voice nudged into the lethargic stream of his thoughts. Lazily looking up from a report on a menos grande sighting—possibly an early move of Aizen's—he twitched an ear.

"Iba, I'm sorry. What was that?"

"I heard Mister Hisagi stopped in last night. How is he?" repeated Iba, sipping a cup of tea as he scanned through the latest copy of _The Communication_. A stack of requisition forms from the Ninth sat next to the magazine, already completed to perfection.

"As well as can be expected, I suppose," answered Komamura. In response to the statement came a toss of discontent from his stomach, courtesy of the resentment he'd swallowed.

_I'm going to get an ulcer at this rate._

"What about you, Sir? Forgive me for asking, but Tōsen was your friend as well."

The text on the report blurred, mocking his reticence by imitation. Not for the first time, Komamura wished to tell Iba his secret. But secrecy was built into his character. After lifetimes of it, there was no avoiding the fact. It took corrosive emotion—like what he felt now, but stronger still—to dissolve the bond.

"He was." Komamura's lip twitched, revealing the curve of a canine for an instant. "But I will live, as will Lieutenant Hisagi. I'm certain of it. Speaking of Lieutenant Hisagi, would you deliver those reports?"

Iba collected them into a folder. "Yessir."

With a buzz of shunpo, he disappeared.

Now the paper looked like white eyes and Tōsen's haori.

Emphatically, it was stamped and placed into the outbox for the First Division, as Komamura began composing a hell butterfly message for the Captain-Commander regarding the menos sighting. Seemingly of its own accord, his hand reached up and began rubbing the band of scar tissue on his left shoulder. It ached him, a residual sign of the damage done to his body by Aizen's reiatsu.

_I should get kidō therapy for this at some point._

The Captain dug a thumb in with greater force in response to his body's protests, running down his list of priorities. There was a Captains' Meeting to prepare for the next day, the final formalities detailing Captain Zaraki's rebellion on the day of the canceled execution needed to be addressed, the Ninth had more work to help with, his men were overdue for an in-person zanjutsu assessment, he needed a bath, and the throbbing between his legs obstinately refused to come at a more convenient time.

With a strangled growl in his throat, Komamura turned to the first item on the list, unconsciously grinding his hips against the seat of his chair, stopping only when he noticed the effect it was having. There was an element of shame to his feelings, one born of his own self-image. Tōsen had been deviant, enough so that he was able to find a monster attractive. But Komamura knew the truth. His chaste appetites were foul enough; his lust was absolutely revolting.

Pushing feeling and sensation away to the back of his mind, he traced out the last of the characters in a line, and looked at the clock with a sigh.

_Perhaps some exercise would do me some good. _

The thought led him to the Division's rookie sparring grounds. There were several dozen men there, the majority of who were freshly enrolled. A senior member of the Division—a fifth seat, if he remembered correctly—had split them into pairs, and was now instructing them in forms as each acted out the same fight in slow motion. At the Captain's approach, he called for a halt, and bowed deeply to their leader, as did the students.

The scent of human anxiety reached Komamura's nose, and a part of him curled in on itself in shame. There was a pregnant pause, and he realized that he was expected to offer a remark.

"...Very good. Carry on, men."

One of the women present snorted quietly to herself as he walked away.

At the entrance to the Division kitchens, Komamura paused. He'd planned to once again have dinner with Hisagi, but the prospect now seemed to be in question, given the nature of the previous night. Hisagi's final words to him rung in Komamura's ears. So carefully neutral, inscrutable and brief to the point of curtness, they inspired fear in him. Fear that he might have alienated the other man and further damaged whatever ties he still had to Tōsen mocked him from an obscure location on the edge of his mind. Even as he passed through the doorway, he was painfully unsure of himself.

_It's ironic, _he reflected, _to feel like this despite my rank and power. I should wait for Iba's return, or send a hell butterfly._

He paused again, drawing the attention of the off-duty men and women in the mess. Shaking his head slightly, he continued forward.

_Ridiculous, really._

"Good evening, Captain. What would you like to eat?" asked a nervous, smiling youth behind the counter. The unseated Shinigami was looking, Komamura noticed, to the left of his face, resolutely avoiding eye contact.

He cleared his throat, decided. "A meal service for two in my office tonight, at eight o'clock, with two pots of tea."

"Yes Sir. Do you, have a preference?"

"No, thank you. Good evening," he answered, turning away. Cold and distant leadership he could do. Bear the pain of concerning himself with his men's opinions of him? Not a chance.

The shoji door closed with a clatter as Komamura returned to his office, eager for the day to be over. Iba was out still, though he had clearly returned already, judging by the scent of tobacco smoke he tended to carry with him.

_Filthy habit_, he thought with irritation, black mood exacerbated by the petty nuisance. _But he should seek me out soon enough with news about any more tasks from the Ninth._

No happier than he had been before setting out, Komamura began drafting the briefing for the next day's Captains' Meeting. One of the directives that had been issued to all Divisions was for the Captains to consider which of their Shinigami were approaching Captain-level strength. The Sixth had Abarai, who was a legitimate possibility, and the Twelfth would likely have a half a dozen of Kurotsuchi's abominations, but there were relatively few others. He only knew the top officials of the other Divisions, though the Second and Fourth could be reasonably excluded, which limited the pool. _Here, Iba's almost strong enough, _noted Komamura, _but is not yet capable of ban kai. _Tapping his fingers on the desk, Komamura tried to think of any other notable soon-to-be candidates, but to no avail.

With Iba's arrival, a smooth and professional flash step into a kneeling position, his thoughts were interrupted. Komamura offered no greeting.

"Well?"

"Captain, Lieutenant Hisagi told me that he's entirely caught up with everything that he can ship out of the Division. All that's left now is to continue on translating records, check financial and personnel records, and begin training to improve morale. By the way, sir, he wanted to know what time he should pay a visit."

"I'll let him know myself," answered Komamura, surprised by the strength of his relief. "That will be all, Lieutenant. Please begin drafting a training schedule for the next week."

"Yes, Captain. Will there be any demonstrations from you or other Divisions?"

Komamura didn't answer; though tempered by his happiness that his and Hisagi's relationship had not been spoiled by the previous night, the thought of facing men who continued to transfer out of Division en masse still put his stomach in knots.

"We'll see about the other Captains tomorrow," he finally said, after a moment of deliberation.

"I'll leave space for flexibility, Captain."

"Good. Thank you, Iba. I'm going to be leaving early. If something comes up, send me a butterfly."

The Captain and his adjutant each turned to their respective duties. There were no candidates for promotion in the Seventh, Komamura realized. The news displeased him, and was only confirmed by Iba, who pointed out, "There aren't many people with that potential in the first place, Captain. The odds of a Division having one are low, unless the Division's owned by nobles or it's one of the stronger ones."

Frustrated, Komamura concluded the summary and tucked it into his shikakusho. It said little good about him or his division, much to his disappointment. Leaving soon after, he returned to his quarters to wait and care for the dog he kept as a pet, a mutt named Goro.

As he watched the dog bound around him in irregular orbit in the Division Gardens, Komamura took comfort in the fact that something had remained the same, despite the recent upheavals and the loss of a family member. Even if it was emblematic of his condition, the companionship of a hound was something he greatly appreciated.

**ΞΞΞ**

Komamura personally welcomed Hisagi into his quarters. After the difficulties of the previous night, he was determined to follow courtesy and propriety as closely as possible. Closing the door behind Hisagi, he twitched his ears slightly.

"Hisagi, you look...excellent."

The other man, showered, shaved, and well-fed and rested for the first time in weeks, laughed nervously. "I'm sure it's far improved from the other night. It's amazing, sometimes, what a difference a little time spent cleaning up can make."

As they settled in to their positions—Hisagi adopting a surprisingly casual pose for someone so carefully respectful of authority as him—Komamura couldn't help but marvel at the changes in the man. He looked like a different person, down to the collar and armbands he always wore, which had been replaced with a simpler, unstudded set, each piece of which was set with a single ring.

Hisagi noticed his scrutiny. Setting aside his chopsticks, he swallowed and looked at Komamura quizzically.

"Hisagi, are you sure you're alright? Recovering from the state you were in is good, but...you seem so different. Too different to have changed so much in twenty-four hours."

The other's expression cleared as he understood Komamura's concern. He sipped at his water before responding, "My Third Seat thought the same thing. I couldn't really go into detail with him, but I can with you. The other night...I realized how selfish I was being. And I didn't want to be that guy anymore, so I made a decision."

He placed a hand on Komamura's larger one, jerking raw emotions to the surface by the sheer unexpectedness of the action.

"Lieutenant," growled Komamura warningly, muscles tensing in response to the invasion of his personal space. Only one man had ever been close enough to do that, and he wasn't around any longer.

Hisagi's eyes met his, intense grey on gold. "Captain. I need a drink right now worse than you'd believe. But I don't intend to get one, even though the shakes are going to start setting in. The one that cleaned me up so much wasn't me. It was you, and I owe you for making it happen, even if you didn't really mean to. I felt your reiatsu when you told me you and Captain Tōsen were lovers. You're in a place that's just...so, so much darker than where I am right now. I couldn't take the feeling of being the one out of the two of us that moaned and wailed about his situation. So, I decided that you were going to recover with me."

His thumb found its way to the fur at the opening of the gauntlet the Captain wore. Komamura's throat ached him, fiercely crying out its need to finally let the pain spill out. Still, he resisted—he was angry, and insecure, and desperately unworthy of greater investment on the part of his friends.

Hisagi blinked as Komamura pulled away, rising from his seated position, and said, "I think it would be best if you left, Lieutenant."

Using flash step, Hisagi moved forward, past the table, to stand in front of the much taller man. "Please." He kneeled at Komamura's feet, looking imploringly up at him. "Let me make you feel better. Captain, you're just...an amazing, kind, man, and you bear so much on your own. You don't have to. You _never _had to."

Komamura stood, paralyzed by his own turmoil. It was _Hisagi. _He had only ever been with Tōsen; that was one of the reasons why he still held on to every scrap of the man that he could, including the ache that had settled in a crisscross pattern of lines across his body. But Hisagi, in a position of submission, with bluish autumnal moonlight gilding the backs of his muscled shoulders, looked...

_Peerless._

Flawless in every way, just like Tōsen had every time Komamura had looked at him. His body moved of its own accord as his mind, despite himself, turned to potential uses of the collar and armbands Hisagi was wearing. When he took hold of the palm gently stroking his knee, Komamura was almost surprised by the sensation of hands—callused from swordplay yet still delicate enough to create flowing lines of prose—being enfolded in his own.

"Hisagi..."

Hisagi rose, an earnest smile playing on his face, as he looked upwards at Komamura. The words that left his mouth next hit the Captain where it hurt, and crossed a point of no return.

"And you're not ugly. You're stunning."

One of the gauntlets came off, followed by the other. Clasping Komamura's broad, strong hands to his chest, Hisagi leaned in, as Komamura's head slowly inclined until they were each looking into the other's eyes. A small sound of amusement left Hisagi's mouth.

"Captain," he called softly as Komamura's hands wrapped around his back.

"What is it?" asked Komamura, voice husky with emotion and lust.

Standing on tiptoe, Hisagi chuckled, "I can feel how hard you are."

Something changed. The Captain's hands shifted to push Hisagi away from him, looking away.

Hisagi's hands clamped down on top of Komamura's, a note of determination entering his voice as he said, "No. We both want this—I think you might even need it. Please don't push me away. I just want to make you feel better, even if it's just for a little while."

"Leave, Hisagi. This can't work."

"Why not?"

The hands on his shoulder spasmed the smallest amount at the question. "Because I am faithful to Kaname. 'Forever, even after the sun stopped setting and the world was a kind and just place.' That's the promise we made to each other. The fact that he has chosen to, as he says, 'follow the path of the least bloodshed' changes nothing. One day, we'll meet again," answered the Captain, unidentifiable emotion smoldering behind the words. "Leave here, and forget this happened."

The hands left Hisagi's shoulders as Komamura turned towards the garden door once more.

"Captain, stop. Please. I understand how—"

"No, you don't."

The tone was harsh—cold as glacial as the coldest winter day, and as aloof as the loftiest noble. At the cracked door, through which a single beam of moonlight entered, Komamura continued, voice rising steadily, "You know _nothing. _You understand _nothing. _You're a child. A selfish, cowardly child—"

The Captain's composure slipped finally, bringing to light the festering wounds on his heart that had gone unaired until then, as he approached Hisagi, forcing him backwards.

"—_with_ _no concept of what I have lost, who would rather drown himself in liquor than handle betrayal like an adult!_ Tell me, Hisagi, were you ever stoned for showing your face when you were starving? Were you ever so alone that suicide seemed to be a foregone conclusion, and the only things that had any power to shock you were human kindness and someone expressing a desire to live in the face of pain? _Have you ever lost_," he roared, throat burning with the force of his shout, _"the one person that could love you as if you were his equal?!"_

The silence was stifling.

From outside the door, a man's voice called, "Captain Komamura, Sir? Are you alright?"

Komamura's shoulders heaved with his own emotion as a viscous tear slowly oozed from his eye.

"Get the door. Tell them it was nothing."

Hisagi's blanched face remained immobile, offering no acknowledgment. Silently, he went to the door, slid it open and bowed in apology to the several Shinigami present with drawn zanpakutō.

"I'm sorry, folks. The Captain and I had a fight over Captain Tōsen. Things will be quieter. I hope we didn't bother you." There was a joint look of doubt from the assembled Shinigami. It was met with a blank expression.

He slid the door shut in their faces and slouched against it, tears of his own beginning to flow silently. If Komamura noticed, he said nothing. Some minutes of silence later, during which the Captain had brooded over the remains of the ruined meal, Hisagi spoke.

"C-captain."

"What?"

"I'm so sorry. I just wanted to be..."

He swallowed, face flushed.

"...Useful."

_Useful?_

Of all the things that Komamura might have expected, that wasn't among them. He closed the shoji door leading outside silently, unsure of how to respond and already regretting his outburst. He glanced over. Hisagi had crumbled, and now sat staring forlornly at his knees.

The room had likewise been damaged. Wastefully, the food had been strewn across the tatami matting, some of which would now need to be cleaned or replaced. Hisagi's bench was flipped on its side, and a number of light objects—papers, bedding, and the like—were lying in small piles around the quarters.

_I just did a lot of damage._

He wasn't sure what or who had received the greatest share of it.

Silently, Komamura approached Hisagi, whose eyes flickered shut with shame. "I'm sorry, Captain. I just...I shouldn't have come here, and I need a drink, and I just want to sleep and not feel this way. I'm disgusting."

"No, you aren't."

Hisagi looked up to say something in response, but was given no chance as the massive Captain crouched in front of him, making eye contact. He was calm now, almost oddly so, and certain for the first time in a long time that he was doing the right thing.

"You're stunning." Komamura glanced away for an instant, searching for the words. "I'm sorry," he continued. "I've been bottling this up for so long I forgot it needed to come out. Believe me when I say that I can't fault you for your actions. You wanted to find a remedy for your own pain. What I said was a product of my problems, and I shouldn't have lashed out so violently. Let's forget about this. It's better that way."

An ironic smile touched Hisagi's lips at the reference to his earlier words. But his eyes—sober and grey, and darkened with something forceful and dangerous, weren't reached by the curve of his lips.

"No. I don't want to forget this."

"Hisagi—"

"Captain, just do this much for me. Please."

"I can't," answered Komamura, growing exasperated. "What was your intent, anyway? To, what, seduce me?"

"Well...yes, but no." Hisagi sat forward and stood so that he was on eye level with the crouching Captain. "My intent was to help you. I felt your reiatsu last night. That's how I know you want this as badly as I do. You just want someone to tell you that you're important to them, and I want...to feel that I'm good enough, in a way. Please."

Komamura sighed. "Hisa—"

It took a moment to register what the warm pressure on his muzzle was. Hisagi pressed himself closer to the Captain, who was quickly loosing his ground, and worked his lips into the kiss, pressing his tongue deeper into the Komamura's mouth.

A hand reached up to stroke him behind his ear, and Komamura grunted, feeling himself harden quickly as his intractable libido came forward. Slowly, he returned the kiss, lapping against the muscle of Hisagi's tongue with a building fervency that surprised even himself.

Hisagi wrapped his legs around one of the Captain's thighs as they separated, Komamura cradling his lower back with one arm.

They said nothing; only looked at each other. Komamura's throat was aching him once more, this time with a feeling happier, but no less painful, than the loss that had been haunting him.

Wordlessly, they attacked each other again, as Komamura rose, still carrying Hisagi, and took him to the table, which was cleared of food with a sweep of an arm.

"Captain...?"

"We can clean it up later," answered Komamura impatiently, lapping at Hisagi's throat. As he untied the Lieutenant's shikakusho with fumbling hands, a strap tore off, though neither paid it any mind.

Soon, Hisagi's smooth, muscled torso was bared. Kazeshini had been tossed aside with his shitagi and kosodo, leaving him exposed and vulnerable to the scrape of the Captain's teeth along the side of his neck. He was hard, painfully so, though Komamura abstained from offering his arousal any attention.

That could come later. First, he needed to be as bare as his partner was. Hisagi pushed himself off of the table, into Komamura's lap, to help him remove his plus-sized uniform. The haori was reverently hung on edge of one of he fusuma panels, above Tenken, who was gently laid on the cushion of a folded kosode. Hisagi watched the whole procedure with a mixture of irritation, admiration, and amusement.

"I really admire the way you take care of your zanpakutō, Captain," he said as Komamura returned to pull him back into his lap.

"Another time, Hisagi," answered Komamura, grinding against the smaller man's entrance spasmodically.

"Shūhei. Call me Shūhei. Captain, stop."

Panting, Komamura looked at Hisagi. "What is it? Don't make me stop now."

The other man grinned, breathing heavily. "I think we're still wearing a few articles of clothing too many."

Komamura looked at his bare torso. In the heat of the moment, he hadn't noticed, but now that they had slowed down, the shame of exposure, beaten into him as a child and nurtured as an adult, came roaring back. He shivered.

Hisagi noticed. "Captain Komamura, look at me."

"Hisagi, I don't think I can do this. I'm sorry, I need you to go."

"No. I'll say this as much as I need to." Pulling himself forward, so that he was sitting on the Captain's hipbones, he made eye contact, rubbing behind the larger man's pointed ears.

"You're stunning." A hand dropped to rub the side of Komamura's jaw, and then ran down the side of his neck, carding through the soft, thick fur. Gently, Hisagi placed a kiss against the side of Komamura's muzzle.

"You're absolutely perfect the way you are," he repeated, reaching down past Komamur's obi to stroke him back to hardness, holding eye contact all the while.

"I—"

"—am perfect. Say it, Captain."

Komamura hesitated. The hand on his semihard arousal was removed, and Hisagi moved to the floor, laying on Komamura's left thigh. His head was just at the top of the limb.

The message of reward couldn't be any more clear.

"You know you deserve this."

Filtering through his mind, the words struck something inside Komamura, which was rusty and long-neglected.

"I am perfect," he intoned quietly, loath to let the strange and unpleasant words leave his mouth.

Hisagi smiled at him, stroking his hard abdominal muscles with four fingers. He sat up, resuming his position, and the two indulged in another kiss, surrendering to the heat as soon as it began to build.

Hisagi threw his head back, groaning with pleasure, as Komamura bucked upwards with a particularly strong thrust. A patch of the Captain's precum had soaked through his hakama, coating his thigh.

"Hn...Captain...I want to taste you," he panted, arching his back as Komamura lapped his neck once more. As he moved, the ring on his collar caught the light, and Komamura took the opportunity to hook a finger through it, and pull Hisagi's face downwards, into his chest. The soft, warm fur smelled irresistible to Hisagi; a combination of musk, sweat, and the unique scent of Komamura's skin and fur. The Captain pushed him down onto the floor, and stood, undoing the knot on his obi as Hisagi kneeled before him.

He looked upwards, eyes glazed over with lust. As the knot came apart and Komamura carelessly stepped out of his hakama, his heart leapt, mouth working at the sight. Almost all of the Captain's muscular body was bare, a tableau of brown fur with countless variations that faded into a delicate white on his throat, stomach, and chest. The white hairs caught the light, creating thousands of subtle variations in color as they cast shadows on each other. Behind him, a long, bushy tail beat freely, freed of its normal confinement. His only undergarments were a fundoshi wound carefully closed, now dampened to a surprising degree from their earlier activities. Between his legs, the edges of a pair of furry balls poked out of the leg holes of the fundoshi, and at its top, the tip of the Captain's arousal protruded, just enough to draw the eye to the pink nub of flesh.

Hisagi could feel himself dripping and as Komamura picked him up, cradling him in a single arm. They entered a separate chamber, this one with an extremely thick futon sized for the Captain unrolled on the floor. As they moved, Komamura took Hisagi's mouth again, curling his tongue to rub Hisagi's, before moving down to nip at the spots above the other's collar. He was partial to the act. Just as every lance of mild pain sent another jolt of lust through Hisagi's veins, little pants that left the other's mouth as he leaned his head back to open up his throat taunted Komamura, who began palming Hisagi's erection through his hakama.

"Captain Komamura...I'm gonna cum," he moaned, tipping his head back farther only to whine with disappointment as Komamura set him down onto the futon, throwing down his own cushion from the dining room next to him. Rolling it up, the Captain sat down and leaned backwards, splaying his body out for Hisagi to worship. The bedroom's dim lighting caught the curves of his and Hisagi's bodies, and Hisagi couldn't resist ogling Komamura's muscular torso with its ridges and bumps of granite muscle covered with a layer of smooth fur.

Hisagi began crawling towards the Captain, only to have Komamura grab the collar as soon as he came within reach and jerk him forward, smashing his face into the gap between his fundoshi and his leg. Mouth watering, Hisagi was forced to inhale, and almost came from the sheer domination of being handled so aggressively. As the muscles in his ass and lower back flexed with lust, he inhaled again, a moist, salty scent soaking into his throat. And the warmth! Hisagi rubbed his face against the fur on both sides, hearing and feeling the Captain's appreciation above him.

When he was allowed to draw breath, Hisagi immediately returned his attention to his original focus. Unwinding the fundoshi as Komamura watched from his reclined position, Hisagi took another deep breath in at the sight. Pink and hot to the touch, Komamura's cock stood at an angle jutting out from his crotch, where his fur thinned to a sparse scattering of white. As he approached and reached for it, Hisagi measured it against his hand, eyes widening when he saw that longer and easily as thick as three fingers, with a knot at the base that was easily wider by the width of another half a finger. The tip tapered to a much narrower point, sloping downward from the top. The balls beneath it were also large, extremely so—each had to be three quarters the size of Hisagi's fist.

He placed a hand on the knot, and looked at Komamura. Now that he was going through with his plan, the concept planted a tiny speck of anxiety in his chest. Komamura looked back at him with golden eyes dark with lust and something darker and more violent. He hooked a finger through the collar once more, but didn't pull on it, a silent threat allowed by mutual unspoken consent.

Hisagi grinned and dived down on it with gusto, first licking his way up the hot, veiny side, then spreading his lips wide open to take it down as far as he could. His eyes flickered shut in ecstasy as the taste of the Captain's precum flooded his mouth, the thick fluid coating his lips. Though he could only take a portion of the engorged cock—half of it, if that—Hisagi pushed as far down as he could, pressing his lips and tongue tighter against the warm flesh and sucking for all he was worth. Komamura's eyes dropped shut, lip twitching upwards as he growled in pleasure and pressed down on Hisagi's head, thrusting into his mouth. Grunting with discomfort as the throbbing, salty member was forced further into his mouth, Hisagi reached down to begin stroking himself.

"No. Don't do that."

Dark grey eyes looked back at the Captain, who flashed another snarl at him in warning, only to make Hisagi moan in arousal as his walls tightened against an imaginary intrusion, pleasuring Komamura even more with the vibration of Hisagi's voice. Komamura responded by firmly seizing a hold of Hisagi's head and beginning to slowly pump shallowly into his hungry mouth, using a handful of Hisagi's dark hair to guide him while the other hand looped his unraveled fundoshi through the rings on Hisagi's armbands. He then pulled sharply on it, jerking Hisagi's arms upward, away from his leaking arousal and towards the Captain's own. Hisagi wrapped his callused hands around its base, pumping the portion he couldn't take as he began to suck harder, fumbling over the knot.

Pulling away, he ignored Komamura's growl, and looked him in the eye. "Captain, talk to me."

Without responding, Komamura wrapped his hands around Hisagi's head and thrust him back down, bucking upwards with enough force to bring tears to Hisagi's eyes.

_Kaname liked it when I talked dirty, too_.

The thought occurred to him, but he was too drunk on lust to care. The only thing that held any weight was the drive to apply force, to dominate, that was only ever indulged when he and Tōsen had made love. He bore down on Hisagi, continuing the rough pace that had Hisagi moaning and gagging in response to the intrusion. Salivia and precum dripped from his lips as he scraped his tongue along the side of the organ feeling it pull back out and press into the slipper softness of his cheek.

"Take it," Komamura growled, voice edging even deeper than normal. The building tension of imminent orgasm began licking its way up his body as the sensation of Hisagi's lavish attention increased to a furiously pleasurable burn. Bucking furiously, he clamped down on Hisagi's head, ignoring the surprised, weak struggles against it. The words continued to leave his mouth, a constant stream of degradation that had Hisagi's red face contorting with warring pain and pleasure and his neglected cock aching for stimulation.

"Take it. Suck my cock and let me cover your face with cum before I take your tight ass all the way up to my knot and—" he grunted and thrust again, once more, deeper than before, as he began to cum, pumping all the while, until it leaked down over his base.

Hisagi moaned as the stuff filled his mouth, salty and thick and strong-smelling, pumping out in enough volume to be swallowed down twice, as shudders of pleasure racked his body with his own orgasm and the Captain's engorged member slipped out of his mouth, continuing to paint his face with sticky cum, smearing it around his mouth and up his cheeks. It dropped away, still trailing a strand away from his lips to pool the last bits of cum around its base. Hisagi gagged, and he looked down at his hakama in disappointment.

Dropping onto his side, Hisagi swallowed again, panting and coughing. Komamura looked at him, and pulled the other man close, to face level, and began licking Hisagi's face clean, finishing with a gentler kiss on his mouth. His long, adroit tongue scooped out a bit of his own seed that found itself back on Hisagi's face. Sitting up, Komamura moved to loom over Hisagi, and finally undid the other's obi and hakama.

"What are you doing?" Hisagi asked hoarsely. "I already came."

"I know," answered Komamura, tugging Hisagi's fundoshi off. He clamped it to his nose and breathed deeply, making a lazy smile grow on Hisagi's face. It vanished when the Captain grabbed his wrists, pressing them down into the bedding, before beginning to work his way down from Hisagi's abdomen at a tortuously slow place. He snuffled through Hisagi's pubic hair before finally reaching the other's cock, which he began to lap at, making Hisagi squirm, until it had filled again.

His tongue spread out across the oversensitive flesh, mopping up the remains of Hisagi's orgasm. Extending his tongue, he wrapped it around Hisagi's shaft, avoiding the head entirely, then repeating the action until Hisagi began to rut into the air, desperate for friction. The Captain pulled away, rising back up to look Hisagi in the eye, the side of his muzzle still smeared with the other's cum. A peculiar smile tugged at the corners of his canine lips as he released Hisagi's wrists to cup the other's head and flicked his flat tongue around the cavern still lined with a slimy layer of his own orgasm.

With a small sound, Hisagi took what had been cleaned off of his own cock into his mouth and returned the kiss, feeling a sense of warm pleasure kindle somewhere in his core as he ground against the ridges of Komamura's abs, feeling the silken texture rub over his entire groin until orgasm began to approach.

Then Komamura pulled away, ignoring his gasp of loss, and barred an arm across Hisagi's shoulders. Slowly, he reached for his own fundoshi once more, then, ordering Hisagi to stay still, tied one end to the collar and rotated the entire piece so that it was facing backwards.

Only when the Captain had flipped him over, pulled his arms back, and begun wrapping the cool, slightly damp linen around his forearms, binding them together, did Hisagi understand Komamura's intentions. On his knees, with his face in the Captain's cushion and his ass in the air, Hisagi felt his insides tense in anticipation. He shivered, and gooseflesh appeared on his arms and legs.

A cold, wet nose touched slightly on the base of his spine, and he gasped, all the more arousde by his inability to see Komamura. Then the, slick, slightly rough tongue swiped over his hole, followed by a puff of breath, and he flexed his legs convulsively. Something warm, wet, and heavy touched his thigh, and he shivered again.

Komamura looked down at his handiwork, and the twitching Lieutenant it restrained, satisfied. He'd thrown out the old lilac ropes, but this worked just as well. Better, actually. His erection throbbed again, though he resisted the impulse to bury it in the waiting hole in front of him. Instead, he leaned in, spreading the firm mounds of flesh apart, and pressed into it once more with his mouth, inhaling the other's scent. Getting high off of Hisagi's desperation, he increased his pace, watching Hisagi thrust futilely, cock and balls swinging with the movement until he caught them and the Lieutenant gasped in shock and pleasure. The gasp turned into groans as Komamura licked his way along the insides of Hisagi's thighs and up the back of hi balls with long, slow strokes until he reached Hisagi's pulsing hole again, and began working the other to orgasm as he forced his tongue through the tight ring of muscle. It didn't take long; Hisagi cried out as he shot a load of watery come over Komamura's hand, which was promptly smeared over his own ass.

"Gonna breed you, Hisagi. Fuck you like a whore and watch it drip out of you," promised Komamura, ferociously rutting into the trough formed by Hisagis's ass cheeks. The other's come acted as lubricant, and he, too, came quickly, growling thickly as ropes of his semen sprayed over Hisagi's entrance and legs, the copious amount dripping over his balls and down his dick to fall onto the futon. Hisagi groaned in response, working his entrance reflexively. Lust vanquished, Komamura admired the sight for a while as Hisagi took shuddering breaths to recover.

Without untying the other, Komamura leaned forward, gently rubbing small circles on Hisagi's back. "Hisagi, I'm going to clean you off. Alright?"

Hisagi let out a sleepy sigh, and murmured, "Alright. Hurry up, Captain. I'm tired."

Komamura stood up and left the room briefly, returning some time later with a wet cloth, a cup of water for Hisagi, their zanpakutō, and the clothing they'd shed in the other room. After Komamura had cleaned Hisagi, with the occasional use of his mouth, he tenderly placed Tenken in a simple stand, and laid Kazeshini down on a cushion.

They sat together for a while, Hisagi draped in Komamura's outsized kosode, sipping water and pressing their bodies together.

"Captain...thank you."

"Hisagi, go to sleep. We're getting up early tomorrow."

Hisagi's brow furrowed slightly at the curt response. "Why?"

"I intend to keep my promise," answered Komamura coyly.

"What...oh. Oh."

Hisagi crawled closer, still draped in the Captain's clothing. He wrapped it tighter, and pressed against Komamura's side. A door to the gardens was cracked, creating a draft of chilly September air that was negated by their shared heat. The two lay together in silence, listening to the season's last cicadas.

"You didn't have to look after Kazeshini, you know," yawned Hisagi. "It's not like he'll appreciate it."

"I know."

A lull.

"Goodnight, Captain Komamura."

"Goodnight, Hisagi."

**ΞΞΞ**

The two were exhausted, and slept deeply in each others' arms, though Komamura's rest was cut short. Around four in the morning, he was thrown out of his sleep by a dream of Tōsen that left him awake but unrested and deeply troubled. Hisagi's muscled back had naturally worked its way into the crook of his side, and his messy black hair had fallen across his face, partially obscuring an eye. As Komamura looked at him in the mostly opaque blackness, guilt gnawed at him, warring with the burgeoning sense of affection he felt for the man in his arms.

It was stupid. It was illogical. It was, in these circumstances, utterly ridiculous. But nonetheless, Komamura couldn't shake the silent conviction that he had betrayed Tōsen by taking another man as his bedmate, even if it was on what he had decided was a one-time event.

The scars twinged.

_How long will things be like this? And how_, he wondered,_ will this end? _He knew that it seemed unlikely—if the Central Forty-Six hadn't been forcefully removed from office and replaced with a group more wary of showing their power, it would have been impossible—that Tōsen would survive the upcoming war. "The Winter War," people had begun calling it. Tauntingly, the moniker promised a resolution made all the more foreboding by its imminence. Three months until the end—of what and whom, Komamura was unsure.

_Even if he survives, he could be put to death. Or imprisoned._

Ironically, the latter was the worse of the two. Death meant reincarnation, which meant eventual death, which meant a return to Soul Society. Then, there was a chance—cruelly infinitesimal, but a chance, still—that the two would find each other again. Imprisonment meant that they might never again meet, in any life.

_Even worse, _Komamura thought, _I would know where he was at any time. But I could never see him again._

Komamura blinked slowly, feeling the tears well up again. He was tired. Tired of the sadness, and the emptiness, and the mood swings. Swallowing, he looked at Hisagi's peacefully sleeping form and swept a lock of hair out of his face. He was beautiful, and Komamura had never felt more wretched.

The fact of the matter was, he'd taken advantage of a friend to try and kill the feelings. It'd worked, too, for a little while. But now, they were back, and they'd brought friends. Like more self-recrimination. Regret, too, and shame. The knowledge that he'd done something so thoughtless tormented him, serving as even more evidence of his monstrosity and another reason he was..._less. _Less good than Tōsen or Hisagi, less desirable than any normal human being, less deserving of his right to exist.

Then Hisagi bolted out of bed and sprinted to the bathroom. A second later, the faint sound of retching could be heard. Komamura sighed, reminded of the other's current condition. Nonchalantly, Hisagi returned several minutes later, calmly striding through the door. Impressively, he only looked slightly pale, and the shaking was hardly noticeable.

"Are you alright?" asked Komamura.

"Three pain pills and a long drink of water later, yeah. What's wrong?"

Komamura looked down at the covers pooled above his waist. "Hisagi, I'm so sorry. I took advantage of you."

With a sigh, Hisagi leaned back against Komamura's broad, muscular chest, clearing his sore throat. "I think you have it the wrong way around, Captain. I came here with the intention of getting you to fuck me, and I got what I wanted."

"That's what I mean. You were compromised, and I used you."

Hisagi sat up in the half-light, rolling his eyes, and looked at the Captain. "So...because you let me use you, you used me. Captain, you need to stop this. I came here because I wanted to be useful, I said. That wasn't really right."

He glanced at the clock, searching for the right words. "I wanted to feel...I don't know. Needed, I suppose. By someone I personally cared about. All my friends other than Renji are in the hospital right now. So that left you."

Grey met gold once more. "And I got what I wanted. Don't ruin this now. I need to go piss. I'll be back in a moment," he said, taking a fistful of fur from Komamura's chest as he offered a kiss. "And then I'll be holding you to your promise. What time is it?"

"Five-thirty."

Komamura watched him leave the room, stricken by an internal conflict. The thought of Hisagi using him hadn't occurred to him, and he wasn't sure it changed things.

_But, _he acknowledged,_ Tōsen isn't here anymore. There's nothing I can do to change that, and it shouldn't control me._

The lights were turned up by Hisagi in the other room, and Komamura reflexively wished for his bucket. To him, it was still a mystery how Hisagi could be attracted to him, a monster. Tōsen had been blind, and had only felt the touch of fur and teeth as evidence of his monstrosity. Hisagi, on the other hand, had no excuse ore reason.

_Other than being abnormal, I suppose, _he thought dryly, only to have it the thought wiped away when Hisagi entered once more, clad only in Komamura's kosode, carrying a tray of tea.

"I made tea. Have some."

Komamura took a bowl, one of his large ones, and allowed Hisagi to pour him a serving before returning the favor. "Hisagi," he began, "are you sure about this? I'm fairly large, you know."

The other threw back his cup carelessly—clearly in a hurry to finish, and probably in a manner similar to his approach to drinking—before laughing and answering, "You're asking if I want to have sex with a handsome, dominant guy, who's hung and comes in cupfuls?"

Komamura shifted, uncomfortable with the whole affair. "I'm asking if you're alright with having sex with a monster."

Setting his porcelain cup aside, Hisagi looked at him irritatedly. "Look, you know this is bullshit. Even Captain Zaraki's a smart guy in his own way, and he's the dumbest out of all the Captains, if we're speaking honestly. You're hardly a monster. You might be pretty unique in a appearance, but you're not nearly as unpleasant as you like to act like you are, Captain. I'm sorry to get mouthy, but you're a great guy who keeps putting himself down. It's upsetting. If you're hideous, then so are most human beings. You're tall, and strong, and your eyes are gorgeous. If anything," he said, leaning forward to move closer to the Captain, "You're more attractive than a lot of other men and women I've slept with."

Komamura remained silent as Hisagi took his unfinished bowl and climbed into his lap, sending a thrill of arousal through his veins as he took the Captain's cock in his hands. With fascination, Hisagi watched it swell out of its sheath, despite Komamura's conflicting emotions. Then he licked up the side, and Komamura gasped as his own lust again subsumed his normal self-abasement and doubt.

"Hisagi," he grunted, resisting the urge to clamp his hands on the other's head and start fucking his mouth.

Hisagi came back up, tossing the kosode aside before wrapping a hand around Komamura's throbbing knot and squeezing slightly. "What?"

"Do you have—ngh—lube?" he asked, teeth flashing as he growled with pleasure at Hisagi's attentions.

Grinning, Hisagi answered, "In my hakama. Hang on."

On his hands and knees, Hisagi crawled over, searching through the pockets of the uniform. Komamura's eyes fixated on the shapely ass in front of him, darkening further when he saw the winking hole Hisagi teased him with.

Then a dampened finger slipped in, and he felt the urge to sink into hot flesh intensify. Hisagi sighed and pushed his hand in further, immediately adding another finger, which he began twisting and scissoring, sighing as he felt his fingertips press into his walls, pushing them apart.

"Captain," he teased, "you have no idea how badly I've been craving this." He introduced a third finger, pressing upwards against it, while Komamura watched, already beginning to ooze precum. "That's enough, Hisagi," he growled, tiring of the aching arousal. "Get over here."

Smirking, Hisagi pulled them out with a sucking sound and sauntered over, hips swaying slightly. "Alright. How—"

Komamura threw a hand forward, moving perhaps with the application of a little shunpo, and yanked Hisagi towards him, teeth bared as he growled triumphantly. Pinning Hisagi's wrists above his head with one massive hand, the Captain raked his teeth against Hisagi's throat, pressing down on his torso with the other hand. Then, he took Hisagi in his arms and pressed the other's back into his chest, letting him slid down until Komamura's hard-on was pressing against his balls. Hisagi pressed back into the wall of muscle and fur, instinctually reaching up to grab Komamura's shoulder. The bottle of lubricant was pressed into his hand, a silent order he obeyed with gusto, dumping a sizable dose into his hand and pumping it up and down the pulsating member a few times, relishing the texture of it. He passed his hand down and tugged on the Captain's pendulous balls before being tossed forward, off of the Captain's knees. Komamura tied Hisagi's obi through the loop on his collar, much like the night before, and before Hisagi could vocalize a doubt, banded an arm around the other's waist to lift him off of the futon.

There was a breathless moment when Hisagi waited for Komamura to take him, insides contracting in anticipation as the muscular, furred arm pressed into his hips, scraping against his dripping cock.

Then Komamura began pressing in, throwing his head back in a soundless howl as the hot, slick silk of Hisagi's insides contoured to his arousal. Pumping in short strokes as he slowly sank deeper, he pulled backwards on the obi as Hisagi panted out little cries of pain and pleasure.

As Hisagi was pulled backwards, he arched his back, feeling the Captain fill his aching hole. A groan left his mouth as the feeling of being painfully stretched intensified until tears pricked at his eyes, though he savored the sensation of being used. Soon, he settled into a vertical position, sliding down Komamura's throbbing cock with a shudder, the Captain's massive muscles pressing into his back. Then Komamura's teeth clamped on his neck, and he sunk in further, up to his knot, shaft scraping over Hisagi's painfully oversensitive prostate in the process.

"C-captain..."

Komamura's only response was to scrape a claw over one of Hisagi's sweaty pectoral muscles, catching a nipple and leaving a streak of red, before clamping the arm across his heaving chest and beginning to fuck him in earnest, sharp, powerful strokes driving Hisagi into a stupor. Every breath that left his mouth was a quietly wanton moan that inspired Komamura to pump harder. He began sinking his knot into Hisagi's ass, stretching it further, growling lowly as more of his member was engulfed in hungry wet heat. Hisagi's breath hitched with the pain, and he pressed his head back, begging for another nip at his throat.

Komamura happily obliged, a pinprick that, in their frenzied movement, broke the skin. The blood beaded on the wound, and he ran his flat, hot tongue over it, enjoying Hisagi's whimpers.

"Captain..." he groaned. "Don't stop, please."

The knot sank in further, and Hisagi reached for his bouncing cock, only to be stopped again by Komamura.

"Don't even think about finishing, Hisagi. Not until you're full of my cum."

He lapped again at the bloodied spot on Hisagi's neck, and pressed in to the widest part of his knot as Hisagi's cries reached a new height. It slipped all the way in, and Komamura howled in conquest, unconcerned with anyone that might hear.

He went for the finish. Without taking his cock out of Hisagi's ass, Komamura spun him around, making the smaller man moan again and press into the Captain's hot, hard muscles, as the knot pulled at his entrance, creating flares of ecstatic agony. As he buried his head in the valley between Komamura's pectorals and the Captain roughly jerked on his dripping, painful arousal, Hisagi came violently, spraying over his own chest and neck as he clamped on the cock inside his ass, letting out a final cry as he convulsed.

As the pressure increased from tight to crushing, Komamura clamped his jaw down on Hisagi's left shoulder, breaking the skin entirely, and thrust upwards again with more force than ever, pressing his hips flush against the other with a howl of delight as he began filling the smaller man's ass with cum, knot swelling even more as he shot once, twice, and three times, feeling the hot, sticky fluids build around the plug of his own cock. The blood dribbled sluggishly from the crook of Hisagi's neck and shoulder into his mouth as tears of release appeared in the Captain's eyes. He separated from the wound, licking it tenderly, and kissed the other man.

Hisagi moaned into it, placing a hand on the Captain's noble jawline and stroking it in small circles. He knew that the copper he was tasting was his own blood. He also didn't care. His entire body ached, from the intense, burning pain of his well-used ass to the contusions on his neck and shoulder and the swelling from the rough usage of his throat mere hours ago, and it felt amazing.

The two broke off the kiss after an indeterminate time, and simply looked at each other, panting. Komamura swabbed a finger through the cum on Hisagi's chest and licked at it, making the other man smile.

"What now?" Hisagi asked, catching his breath.

"We wait."

"For what?"

Komamura lapped again at the clotting wound, making Hisagi shift in discomfort. "We have to wait until my knot shrinks again. It should take around three hours. Did I hurt you?"

Hisagi blinked. "No, I'll live. Don't we have work?"

"Well, this is why Kaname was late so often."

Hisagi laughed disbelievingly. "I always thought he just had difficulty getting ready. You can't just pull it out? Or take a cold shower, or something?"

Komamura shrugged sleepily. "Trust me when I say it won't come out without seriously hurting one of us. Just relax and sleep for a little while."

Hisagi frowned. He wasn't a fan of being in such a compromising position, but there seemed to be no helping it. So he snuggled against the sticky, cum-soaked fur of Komamura's expansive chest, and grunted as the knot tugged at his ass when Komamura reclined on a pillow.

"Captain?"

"What is it?"

"What now?"

The phrasing was the same as before, but it was obvious what Hisagi meant. Komamura sighed as he considered the problem.

"I don't know. I don't feel like we can keep doing this. People will talk. They already did about Kaname and I. That was before they saw me without my helmet. And my men probably heard us. There might be kidō wards placed for privacy around my rooms, but that doesn't mean they blocked out all of the noise."

"I don't care what they say about me. You're a good man, not to mention a respected Captain," responded Hisagi, listening to the steady beat of Komamura's heart.

""It's a matter of ethics, I think. The Seventh Division has been taking so much work from the Ninth that literally everyone has heard about it. If we keep sleeping together, people will find out eventually, and there will be a scandal. And the distraction's the last thing anyone needs right now."

Between them, there hung an unanswered question: Tōsen.

"Do you still love Captain Tōsen?" asked Hisagi, already certain of the answer.

"It's not like that, Hisagi."

He frowned. "No, it's not. I'm not jealous, Captain. Give me a little more credit than that. What I mean is, do you want him to come back?"

Frowning, Komamura looked at him, certain he'd misunderstood the question. "Of course I want the man I've been in love with for over a lifetime with to come back—how could I _not_? More than someone as young as you could imagine, I want him back."

"You keep calling me young," noted Hisagi, squeezing the hard ball still sunk inside his passage experimentally, grimacing in pain as he did so. "I'm at least one hundred and five years old."

"By my count, I'm over three hundred. And don't squeeze. That will make it take longer."

Hisagi stopped. "Why?"

"If an extremely attractive member of one's preferred sex begins applying—"

Hisagi patted the side of the Captain's furred jaw before running his hand up to scratch behind Komamura's ear, only to find it out of reach by a few centimeters.

"I get it, I get it. Still. I'm hungry."

Komamura returned the caresses running along his jaw and corded neck in the form of a gentle rubbing along the smaller man's back. He said nothing more, and Hisagi did the same. Instead, they simply lay there, admiring and occasionally tasting each other.

**ΞΞΞ**

Nearly two hours later, Hisagi shifted on Komamura's torso, pulling upwards against the knot. It hurt, but bearably.

"Captain, I think it's ready to come out. We have to get moving."

Komamura looked down at him, and pulled down on it experimentally, thoroughly enjoying the sensation of moving through his own cum, which was still sealed inside of Hisagi. "I think you're right. Try to relax. It will make this hurt less."

Yelping, Hisagi was tipped backwards as Komamura supported his hips, similarly to earlier. A tiny twitch of spent arousal flared in him as he felt the seed trickling deeper into his gut. Komamura's other hand was pressed down against Hisagi's chest, pinning him.

"Captain we don't have time for another round."

Snorting gently, Komamura said, "You're right, which is why you shouldn't bring it up. I don't want to be tempted. Take a deep breath."

When he pulled out, Hisagi cried out in pain, feeling his tired cock give a weak twitch as the knot forced its way out of him. A stream of hot seed followed it, trickling out onto the covers, making Hisagi shudder at the pleasant ache that still seemed to reach every corner of his body. Tentatively, he touched the pool around his tailbone, then his own tired hole.

With Komamura's help, he slowly rose, hissing as more of the Captain's seed dripped over sensitive, inflamed flesh. With an air of contrition, Komamura averted his eyes, saying, "Hisagi, you should bathe before you leave."

"Yeah, you're right." He glanced at the clock. "We're already late, though."

Komamura wagged his tail half-heartedly, following Hisagi, who was limping slightly. "I don't believe any of your men are ignorant to how hard you've been working. They won't be angry."

A small rivulet of blood ran down Hisagi's leg, and Komamura's eyes widened. "Hisagi, are you sure you're alright?"

The other turned around, scratching at his ankle and smearing the blood in the process. He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Nothing that a pain pill won't fix. Or treat, at least. Really, we knew this would happen. Does it look like I mind? Now come on. It's cold in here, and I'm not feeling so great right now. I'd like to get in a hot shower already." He shuffled closer, and took Komamura's hand. "And I'd like you to join me."

Komamura's downcast eyes met Hisagi's—gold on grey—and he nodded.


End file.
